By Rev. Gusti Linnea Newquist
Luke 2: 41-44
Luke 2: 45- 52
The great religious festival has ended, for Mary and Joseph and Jesus in our Gospel Lesson today, and for us, as we come back ‘home’ to Madison Square for one last service of worship at the end of the calendar year.
For them it is the Passover Festival. For them it is a grand pilgrimage through the heart of Jerusalem every year to remember the birth of their people, the way we remember the birth of Christ.
For them it is the old, old story of God leading the Hebrews out of Egypt, through the desert, and into a land of promise and plenty. But for them the land of promise and plenty has become a police state. More and more armed guards from the Roman Empire encroach upon their temple and their people and their potential. More and more of their children succumb to the violence that permeates their midst. More and more of their parents wonder if God really is still with them.
And so they find themselves praying for a “Passover-in-reverse.” For God to raise up another Moses and Aaron and Miriam in their time, that the land might return to the promise of plenty that lingers in the songs of the Passover Festival. Just as our promise of peace lingers in the songs of Christmas.
Jesus, in this story, is still just a boy. But he knows enough to know that he needs to know more. So he stays behind in the Temple and he studies his Scriptures and he asks the tough questions and he astonishes his teachers with his wisdom and understanding. And they wonder if he just might be that leader for whom they have been praying all this time . . .
And we could say this is unique to Jesus. That in this story we see him as the special Son of God that he is. And it is. But we could also say that this is how all children can be with enough space and enough trust and enough support to guide them along the way. They become our teachers. They just might be the ones God is raising up among us, to lead our violent land back to promise and plenty.
This is, I believe, the real truth of the Incarnation. That the image of Christ is born again in every child God places on this planet. That every child is our teacher. That every child offers us the chance to know the Word of God made flesh. And that with every child God gives us, God also gives us the chance to get it right this time!
This is not because children automatically bring us divine bliss. If they are anything like Jesus in this story from Luke—or anything like me, as my own parents who are here today will testify—children can be impetuous and oblivious and ready to make a break for whatever suits their fancy whenever it suits them. Even if that means hiding in the Temple when you are supposed to be going back home to Nazareth.
The reason children bear the image of Christ in our midst is that their very provocations can propel us to maturity. In their very impetuous nature we are compelled to guide them and correct them and nurture them, in the same way we pray for our parenting God to guide and correct and nurture us.
The bottom line truth of the Incarnation is this: if we want our parenting God to be with us, then we had better get on about the business of being with our children. This imperative has become more clear than ever in these past several weeks, as we have all watched the loss of children to gun violence with feelings of abject helplessness.
But we are not helpless! We are here in the Temple with Jesus, lingering after the holy days, learning another way to respond to the violence that rages around us and within us. Learning a way that leads to wisdom and understanding, without becoming violent ourselves.
We are here in the Temple with Jesus, lingering after the holy days, with the invitation to act on our baptismal vows to care for the children God has given us to love. So let’s do it!
In the next 7 minutes our organist, Mark, will offer some musical accompaniment for our time of individual reflection and commitment. Your Red Packet gives you some options to consider:
1. One thing you might do is simply meditate upon the Prayer for Children included in your folder . . . or the artist rendition of Jesus in the Temple included up here in the chancel . . . and listen deeply through your meditation for a response from the Spirit to lead you in further commitment to our children.
2. Another thing you might do is consider the ministry of the Madison Square Child Development Center in your prayers. A small notecard and envelope are available for you to write a note of encouragement to one of the teachers or staff that are listed in your folder. You may place that notecard in the offering plate later in the service, and we will deliver it to the appropriate person.
3. Your prayers for the Child Development Center may lead you to make a special donation to the Child Development Center using one of the envelopes in the folder. Please place your offering in the plate later in the service.
4. There is a letter from the session to Elected Officials in the red notebook advocating public policy positions that we believe reflect our baptismal vows to our children. You are welcome to endorse this letter and send your own copy to one or more elected officials whose contact information is also in your folder. If you wish, you may also put your letter in the offering plate, and we will make sure it is deliver to the right person.
5. Or you may choose to write your own letter on the blank sheets of paper included in your folder.
When the music draws to a close after about seven minutes, we will conclude our time of meditation by joining together in the Prayer for Children by Ina Hughes.
"We Pray for Children"
by Ina Hughes
We pray for children
Who put chocolate fingers everywhere,
Who like to be tickled,
Who stomp in puddles and ruin their new pants,
Who sneak Popsicles before supper,
Who erase holes in math workbooks,
Who can never find their shoes.
And we pray for those
Who stare at photographers from behind barbed wire,
Who can't bound down the street in new sneakers,
Who never "counted potatoes,"
Who are born in places we wouldn't be caught dead in,
Who never go to the circus,
Who live in an X-rated world.
We pray for children
Who bring us sticky kisses and fistfuls of dandelions,
Who sleep with the cat and bury goldfish,
Who hug us in a hurry and forget their lunch money,
Who squeeze toothpaste all over the sink,
Who slurp their soup.
And we pray for those
Who never get dessert,
Who have no safe blanket to drag behind them,
Who can't find any bread to steal,
Who don't have any rooms to clean up,
Whose pictures aren't on anybody's dresser,
Whose monsters are real.
We pray for children
Who spend all their allowance before Tuesday,
Who throw tantrums in the grocery store and pick at their food,
Who like ghost stories,
Who shove dirty clothes under the bed,
Who get visits from the tooth fairy,
Who don't like to be kissed in front of the car pool,
Who squirm in church and scream on the phone,
Whose tears we sometimes laugh at and whose smiles can make us cry.
And we pray for those
Whose nightmares come in the daytime,
Who will eat anything,
Who have never seen a dentist,
Who are never spoiled by anyone,
Who go to bed hungry and cry themselves to sleep,
Who live and move, but have no being.
We pray for children
Who want to be carried
And for those who must,
For those we never give up on
And for those who never get a second chance,
For those we smother.
And for those who will grab the hand of anybody kind
enough to offer it.
We pray for children. Amen.
(We pray for Children, 1995,
William Morrow publisher)
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